‘The mainstream comes to you, but you have to go to the Underground’ - Frank Zappa.
AN INTRODUCTION
I have always found myself seeking a life outside of what I know. Outside of capitalism. Over the horizon or far underground. Somewhere untouched by the social normalities of today's world. I never fit into the moulds that society aggressively and expectantly pre-pressed - for they were too small, inhabitable and unbreathable for someone like me. Being a queer, Black, neurodivergent woman is an identity I take pride in, but sometimes it’s exhausting. So it isn’t surprising that I adopted counter-culture like a second skin and experimented with differing identities like Bohemianism and Nomadism from a fairly early age. But it became apparent that even within these subcultures, the failings of society still existed, and sometimes thrived. So when in February of 2022, I’d managed to find myself living in an alternative and intentional community of people inhabiting caves, I knew I had to grapple with certain questions that presented themselves to me about alternative living. Writing has always been my method of expression and a way to quiet the ADHD-fueled party going on internally. When my camera had broken before my travels, I decided I’d archive my journey through words instead of pictures. So this is your invitation to travel with me. Let me take you on an exploration into the different, conflicting sides of alternative living, and try to answer a question that stayed with me beyond my travels…
Are alternative communities truly built for marginalised individuals to thrive?
ON TRAVELLING WHILE BLACK
When the opportunity came for me to travel, I leaped at the chance. It was a tentative leap, but I landed nonetheless. I was wary about travelling as a person of colour. It had taken me over two decades to find my tribe of people back home in Brighton and undo the whitewashing of my childhood. The idea of leaving that all behind to travel to places where I’d potentially experience more racism was terrifying. But then I read a book that changed everything. Black Girls Take World by Georgina Lawton.
It showed me that travelling while Black was radical and revolutionary. Rebellious in its nature. A chance to travel to places our ancestors dreamed of.
I decided to lean into my fear and do it anyway.
THE KING-A AND I
It was about 4 weeks into my travels across Europe when I met Kinga in Tenerife. Before that point, I’d worked my way through Belgium and Holland, meeting wonderful people, eating great food and feeling great things. The thing was, I was over Western European weather, so I dipped to Tenerife and switched jeans for dresses. There I was living in an isolated, untouched pueblito in the North with a Workaway host when I met Kinga; a friend of my host and a fellow traveller. Her backpack was as big as her dazzling smile, shoes as worn out as she seemed to be that day. We got to talking, exchanging travel stories and comforting each other in shared experiences of sore feet, burnt shoulders, and the consequences of living life out of a backpack. She mentioned she was living with a community of hippies in caves nearby, and understandably, I was intrigued. It suddenly made sense why she’d devoured the dinner I’d made earlier like she was fascinated with the concept of a hot meal. Pure pleasure. Sensory overload. I’d later understand this feeling; the gratefulness for ‘basic’ amenities that most of us take for granted. The jolting recognition and reminder of privilege.
The caves (or Las Cuevas) instinctively felt both exciting and scary. The thing about travelling while Black? You have to do more research than your white counterparts. Have you ever heard of nomads who throw darts at maps to choose their next destination? Yeah, the Black people I know don’t do that. We research, plan, and google ‘how racist is ‘insert country’. But I'd come travelling to experience new things. Over the horizon or underground. I wondered if my ancestors would have dreamt of living in the caves, or run in the opposite direction? One night after beers, music and poetry, Kinga and I got to talking about things. She was open to discussions about race. I knew as a white person that her experience of the caves would be wholly different, but she provided a safety net for me that made me feel ready to jump in and join her after my next destination in a travellers hostel. The net, so to speak, came from her obvious allyship and ability to truly hear me. If you’re a Black traveller in white-dominated countries, allies and safety nets are must-haves. So I said yes, and took another leap.
BIENVENIDO A LAS CUEVAS (WELCOME TO THE CAVES)
‘I’m going to die on these bloody rocks’ was one of the first thoughts I had as Kinga led me on the rocky, questionable, barely-there coastal path through the caves on my day of arrival. I’d seen hints and licks of naked barefoot hippies, whispers and shadows around corners, navigating terrain like mountain goats. I’d come straight from the busy dynamics of a hostel to this. It was a culture shock. I remember in those few days finding myself torn between both groups (hostel goers vs cave dwellers), who each assumed superiority over the other. My hostel friends thought I was silly to join the ‘smelly hippies’ and the hippies thought it was stupid to pay for a hostel. The clash and juxtaposition in lifestyles was obvious, and at times I felt a curious sense of shape-shifting and code-switching to blend into the characteristics of each surrounding.
I was pleasantly surprised to find everyone was welcoming to my arrival. On that first walk, we passed many caves, each home to such different stories. It was like a mixture between The Beach and Lord of the Flies, with the tellings of modernity intertwined in the solar panels and gas cookers. Here I’d found people who rejected the callings of capitalism and had taken advantage of nature's fruits. It was all too easy to get sucked into this idea of ‘paradise’. Things that first day felt strange but innately good. We were naked, peaceful, hairy and happy. Squatting bare assed, cooking over open fires or washing up plates in the sea. Body shame felt like something far and foreign, as did the concept of electricity and basic hygiene. I remember I felt revolutionary in letting my naked Black body touch the sun and the sea, unashamedly and proud. How, like the book ‘Black Girls Take World’ had foreshadowed; it felt radical and revolutionary. Rebellious in its nature. I was lulled into a sense of security and quickly forgot my concerns.
THE CURIOUS CULTURAL CONNOTATIONS OF CAVES
My first night in my new home got me curious about the history and cultural significance of caves. I had a feeling I was experiencing something otherworldly and widely unique. I
I wondered where the almost terrifying stillness of caves came from. It reminded me of Robert Macfarlane’s words in his book Underland;
“To hear the breath of the birth of the universe, you must come below ground to what are, experimentally speaking, among the quietest places in the universe”
I wondered historically who else occupied caves like this. It’s a space untouched by the outside world or by time. Womb-like in its nature, boasting safety, although this eerily juxtaposes with the connotations of death and burial that caves carry. A mixture between womb and tomb. Birth and earth. I’d later come to find out that caves speak of many things; of sacredness, religion and spirituality. I learnt of ‘the Seven Sleepers of Ephesus’ or ‘aṣḥāb al kahf’ - a medieval legend about a group of youths who sought refuge inside a cave, hiding from one of the Roman persecutions of Christians. I can't help but draw parallels to this community I’ve found and wonder what they are hiding from in the curved confines of caves.
I thought of the prehistoric notions of ‘cavemen’, (although only a small portion of humanity has ever dwelt in caves). These stories and ideas have remained so set throughout history. Perhaps because caves are history? Visual reminders of having come from somewhere. The connotations of ‘cavemen’ - primal, resourceful, hunter-gathers was definitely reflected within the community. But instead of hunting animals, we were foraging for food by dumpster diving.
Historically, caves brought us safety and shelter and were used/inhabited throughout time during wars; packing people or precious preserves deep into the dark unknown. I think of the privilege of cave-dwelling as a choice, and how the world's landscapes are constantly evolving. I wonder what the walls of my caves have seen, hardened over time by the secrets they’ve kept and the history they’ve created. I feel a sense of wonder that perhaps now, I’m part of that history too.
THE COLONISATION OF THE CAVES
I stayed in the caves for 10 days. Despite my brilliant first day, the mirage of paradise somehow faded. The sparkling sea and Spanish sun provided the perfect cover for me to feel joyous in my new connection to nature. Truthfully though, the associations of paradise faded. Most people threw around the words paradise and freedom eagerly, fueled by the untouched miracle of our location. But I soon came to remember that freedom has always meant something different to white people than it has to Black and brown folk.
Whether they’d meant to or not, this community of cave dwellers had curated a space of privileged, mostly middle-class, able-bodied, white young travellers. The freedom they were so quick to describe had always been more accessible to them.
On day 2, I’d been met with microaggressions that were covered in the cloak of colour blindness and good intentions, and I remember having a small freak out after I encountered the third dreadlocked white person. Tolerance was certainly exercised. If intentional living was based on the principles of inclusion and accountability, why had yet again I found myself around people somewhat tone-deaf to their echo chamber of privilege? I felt frustrated that this community had done well to get so many things right; sustainable living, environmentalism, a place for creative expression without judgement, yet had fallen short in making sure the label of a ‘safe space’ actually reflected the environment.
I always knew this experience was going to be harder for me being Black, but I was stubbornly determined, adopting the quote by Shirley Chisholm;
‘If there's no seat at the table, bring a folding chair’
Although on reflection, perhaps I’d alter this quote to
‘If there’s no seat at the table, create a new, better table’.
THE HISTORY OF INTENTIONAL AND ALTERNATIVE LIVING
Intentional communities are made up of people who decide to form a community outside of society that is based on their shared values and beliefs. These communities are rooted in a desire for the transformation of society. Their activism is not through political revolution or reformism, but rather through the creation of a counter-society and a total withdrawal from the world to create their own bubble of utopian socialism. These groups are often made up of self-proclaimed ‘hippies’, a movement that exploded with the counterculture of the 1960s (think peace signs, Woodstock, and spiritualism). Despite the lack of representation of hippies of colour, the hippie movement can be traced back to India and Hinduism with spiritual teachers such as Buddha and Gandhi influencing movements like Sannyasa (the renunciation of material desires and prejudices).
There is a lot that appeals to intentional living, and despite the connotations of pacifism in their approach to activism, there is radicalism in choosing to self-sustain and leave a society so many struggle in. But there is something dangerous in their idealism. Both the connotations of intentional communities and my experience bring to mind American anarchist author and poet Hakim Bey’s ‘theory of a Temporary Autonomous Zone’; a short-lived spatial zone in which peak experiences and altered consciousness are realised, in a context of ‘autonomy’ or the absence of hierarchy. This theory very much embodies the energies of the caves, how space and time felt like something so far away, and Bey’s theory that these zones are a ‘tactic of disappearance, different from the confrontation typical of revolutionary politics’ furthers my reflection on intentional communities being radical, yet pacifist in their nature.
So why don’t intentional communities seem built for people of colour or marginalised individuals to thrive in them? Well, perhaps it's naive to assume there aren’t intentional communities that are POC-led, they are just less visible. But it’s also obvious that to start intentional communities, normally you need access to many different resources that require a level of privilege. There is a big class and racial divide within these communities, with the lines of these groups blurring. I think back to my feelings of worry about travelling, and it makes sense that POC wouldn’t want to leave behind similar feelings of community to go to a strange, new area where hostility and racism are a possibility.
It's also interesting to note that the main representation of nomadism and hippies is white. Stereotypes of Black people, informed by white supremacy, have meant sometimes we’ve had narrowing ideas of ourselves. This sense of whitewashing leaves little space for POC. As Black and brown folk, I wonder what would happen if we push through these barriers and instead of entering spaces historically not built for us, build new ones for ourselves, reclaiming them as our own? I’m not campaigning for every Black person to put themselves through my same journey. I realise as a Black - mixed person, my skin has a history of being more accessible and more readily able to fit into white-dominated spaces.
And while the notion of entering and occupying spaces not built for us is radical and challenging to the framings of white supremacy, it’s not our job to constantly be revolutionary. We also deserve peace in the simplicity of existing.
SAFE SPACES AND TOXIC POSITIVITY
Bearing in mind the complicated history of intentional living aforementioned, the direct correlation between the blind idealism of these communities and the ignorance of problematic behaviour I witnessed became apparent. The cave dwellers had on one hand genuinely curated a ‘safe space’ in some senses, for example: being able to be naked without being sexualised, feeling safe in sleeping without a door, etc. Many things made long-term cave living (like those who’d been there for years) seem viable, and despite the shortcomings I’ve explored, I often feel a yearning to return to the simple living of the caves.
On the other hand, the ‘safe space’ narrative fell short in many areas. The community was not free from things like white supremacy or rape culture, and we shouldn’t be surprised these problems stretch beyond the mainstream. That's the terrifying thing; the ‘safe’ label intentional communities have provides the perfect disguise for dangerous people to get away with unacceptable behaviour. There was a false sense of security urged on by the idea of ‘paradise’, and hidden in the cloak of consent and safety in intentional communities, there are dangers waiting.
The positive energy of everyone sometimes felt as if it borderlined toxic positivity. There were times I felt unheard when speaking out on more negative issues. This was reflected in an incident on a particularly potent new moon; an apparent call for change and rebirth. The police came, cars of them, and essentially raided the caves, throwing out all but what we carried on our backs. The police were wrongfully pressuring people to hand over documents, and I refused. The encounter was luckily non-violent in its conclusion. I realised almost no one thought to check up on me, despite being visibly one of the most vulnerable to police brutality. In the end, we all returned to our caves the same night and started from scratch. Later on, some of the community would describe the experience in almost a positive light; people welcomed the change and leant into it. I wonder if this approach the community took to take every opportunity to find positivity was smart and applaudable or wildly delusional.
Pictured above: Left: hiding space to stash goods away from police
Middle: cleaning team stripping the communal cave
Right: Police telling a cave dweller to give up their cave and show their documents
AN ODE TO THE CHARACTERS OF THE CAVE
I could write a whole book on the people and stories I encountered in the caves. Our stories and energies merged in weird and wonderful ways; more than I can explain with words. But here's a snapshot, an ode, to some of the people I met. (All names have been changed)
Timi: one of the only other brown folk. A homie away from home. We pulled together like magnets, grounded in feelings of home and unspoken understanding. Timi was the community cook and they never stopped providing. They also offered the other brown people protective styles and a safe space. When I was unwell one day, they bought me soup and foraged the natural salt that forms on the rockpools for me to take home. Every time I salt my eggs, I think of Timi.
Simon: Simon was the first person I took a naked swim with. We shared conversations about activism burnout, our dreams, and psychedelics. We took shrooms together, listened to music, cliff-dived, ate papaya, and giggled. They were making a documentary about the caves, but from the perspective of the lizards that lived with us. Yes, you read that right.
Elena: Also another big provider of the community. They dumpster dove every day and organised the ‘free shop’; boxes of dumpster-dived goodies for us to have a touch of luxury.
Problem: I nicknamed them Problem because they were just that. Troubled, angry, and eventually violent. What started with verbal aggression escalated to them biting someone's arm in the middle of the night. We called the police (who never came) and they disappeared once they’d heard the police might come for them.
Tommy: Tommy was one of the older residents. They hardly spoke, but when they did, we listened. When the police came, Tommy occupied their cave until the end, and was the only one who managed to keep their cave intact.
Manny: I stayed in Manny's cave my first night before I found my own. They had the biggest space, and it was where everyone gathered to create together. We sang, played instruments, did yoga, played with circus toys, drew, did tarot, and smoked. Manny had been living there for years, including during COVID. They told the time by the sun, and always walked barefoot. They’d also adopted a once-forgotten dog who we all loved and cherished.
WHAT THE CAVES TAUGHT ME
When writing this, I’ve felt a pushing and pulling of thoughts and realisations. The questions I set out to explore don’t necessarily feel answered through my reflections. When I reconsider the idea of whether or not intentional communities are built for marginalised people to thrive, the answer feels more complicated than yes or no. On one hand, my experience reinforces the point that the proposed ideology and the end result of intentional communities are very far away from each other. There was a conscious effort in the cave dwellers I met to try to push for inclusion and maintain a lens of conscious activism within their practices, but I think the subconscious privilege and ignorance of the community led to an overall shortcoming in terms of safety (physically and mentally). There needed to be more space for people to voice their opinions - even if negative. The beautiful culture of trust and love in one another was pure and brilliant in its innocence, but it could just as easily cross into ignorance and sometimes danger. The community wasn't perfect and fell short in many areas, but I also respect its approach to try and be and do better and curate a space for people to thrive outside of the hierarchy of society.
So yes, in some ways, I found a version of my authentic self and it was revolutionary, but in other ways, that version of myself wasn’t the one I value most, for I wasn’t fully comfortable in being my most brilliant, Blackest self.
And that’s the thing. I'm always going to be Black before I'm a traveller. In the same way I feel Black before I’m British. The merging (or battle) of identities fight for dominance for first place. The truth is sometimes those identities conflict and challenge each other. Sometimes I have to partly sacrifice one to truly live the other. I think that’s what happened in the caves. Some days it felt worth it, it felt manageable, but long term, I want to challenge the notion that these identities need to contrast each other.
One day I’ll find a community, place or state of being that allows the many intersections of my identity to thrive together, healthily, uncompromising and dazzling in their multifaceted glory.
Kommentare